


Resurrection of the Unspoken Word

by srsly_yes



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Almost-a-deathfic, Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Science Fiction, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-11
Updated: 2008-11-12
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/srsly_yes/pseuds/srsly_yes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A nontraditional love story. How much do House and Wilson love each other?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning: **It’s from my fevered *jazz hands* imagination. Alternate universe; could be labeled sci-fi. Might be considered a deathfic, but it’s not. Angst.   
> **Wanted:** Open-minded readers willing to suspend belief that sad stories can have happy endings, and that there is a good reason for House and Wilson to be OOC in part one.  
> **Spoilers:** Not in this story.  
> **Disclaimer:** Not mine, and never will be.   
> **A/N: **Inspired by my cell phone—a plot bunny that was hopping around for months and deserved freedom. Chapters will be posted over three consecutive days to cut down on prolonged angst.   
> Thanks to my betas: [](http://bookfan85.livejournal.com/profile)[**bookfan85**](http://bookfan85.livejournal.com/) for her keen eyes and support, and [](http://bishojo-kitsune.livejournal.com/profile)[**bishojo_kitsune**](http://bishojo-kitsune.livejournal.com/) for her excellent suggestions and all-around muse.

.

 

 

“A new world order. A new world peace.”

Wilson remained silent and worked quietly as House quoted the masthead logo from the newspaper. He noted the tone of sour disbelief, and continued walking back and forth from the living room, carrying dirty plates and glasses.

“Hey! You can stop what you’re doing for one moment and talk to me.”

Wilson looked at House, raising an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“A new world order. Peace. Can you believe it?”

“Yes. Um…whatever you say,” Wilson diffidently agreed.

House looked displeased and disappointed. “Hmmph, never mind.”

With eyes cast downward, Wilson tidied and removed the last dish from the coffee table. He did not permit a sigh of relief until he was safely hidden away in the kitchen. With his back toward the doorway, he stood at the sink and allowed one foolish tear to spill down his face. The droplet joined the rushing water from the tap as he scrubbed the debris from the china. By the third plate, he wiped the damp trail from his skin with a rolled up sleeve. He felt better and it was for the best that House did not see his reaction. Wilson smothered his frustration. Was it totally impossible to please House?

* * *

That night Wilson stood stock-still in the doorway to House’s bedroom listening for the breathing pattern to smooth before coming any closer. Earlier, he heard House make his customary journey to the bathroom. Fortunately, the unpredictable man was a predictable sleeper. Undressing silently in the dark, he slipped under the covers and turned on his side to watch House slumber. He drank in the sight, sound, and musky smell, accepting the body heat rolling off House as a heady bonus. Wilson basked like a sun worshiper, but it did not overcome the shame he felt. He knew his behavior was no better than a dog seeking the comfort of his master.

Wilson set his internal clock to rise before dawn. He would return to the sofa to catch a few extra winks, and be preparing macadamia nut pancakes by the time the bedsprings groaned, alerting him that House was awake.

* * *

At breakfast House betrayed no emotion when he asked his usual morning question, “Have you taken your vitals?”

“I’m fine,” Wilson answered automatically and handed over the slip of paper, knowing that each number had dropped significantly from the day before. His eyes fastened upon House.

A ghost of a twitch betrayed a hidden grin. “I’m never bored with your lies, but it doesn’t change anything. You’re dying right on schedule. Call me if there are any surprises.”

Wilson nodded as he got up and wiped off the coffee table. After House left for the hospital, he’d replay the last phrase in his head, analyzing and sifting each word for crumbs of concern. It might give him a reason to concentrate on reversing the deadly numbers.

House headed for the door, throwing his backpack over his shoulder.

Wilson noticed that House wasn’t wearing his leather jacket. “You’re jogging to work?”

“You’re not objecting, are you?” House demonstrated the fitness of both his legs by jumping up and down like a human pogo stick. “Got a tune up the other day. Thinking of chopping the left one off and replacing it with another ACME 1080. The repairman-surgeon said it would cut ten minutes off my running time."

Hiding his guilt as he always did, Wilson rubbed his neck before launching to the defense of the breakthrough prosthesis. “House, your leg was mutilated beyond repair after you wrapped your bike around that tree. I had no choice. You should have had elective surgery years ago like everybody else. Now you can walk, even run normally without pain, and it looks seamless. Has virtually no maintenance. Why stay angry at me?”

The old, abandoned cane was propped up near the doorway. A souvenir from their previous life. House grabbed it and rapped the head of it against his bionic leg. “Because there’s no feeling, you idiot!” The grainy voice dropped half an octave as House muttered bitterly, “Much the same as you."

Feeling more than seeing the blue eyes strafe him from head to toe, Wilson bowed his head, and dared not look up until he heard the front door slam.

Along with the fading sound, Wilson erased the cruel words from his memory. He began his round of comforting chores: making the bed, cleaning what needed to be cleaned. Without House watching his every move, he allowed his right foot to drag as he straightened books and dusted. He kept himself busy planning the dinner menu and ordering food from the market. He then sat on the sofa and stared into space until the delivery boy arrived with the groceries.

After the small outburst this morning he didn’t even consider examining House’s words for any affection. Instead, he repeated the words out loud, spinning the phrase with different, warmer inflections. Changing the phrase to how he wanted and needed to hear it. Then he closed his eyes and imagined House telling him with worried concern, “Call me if there are any surprises, Wilson.”

He blinked. He felt better.

* * *

_One evening. Several weeks later._

House sat isolated in the lounge chair facing the couch, his eyes glued to the latest numbers left on the coffee table. He cast the calculator tape aside when the actual person shuffled into the room.

Running a hand lightly over the sofa, and sensing that it was empty, Wilson sat down at “his” end, tilting his head toward his lap. Sitting quietly, he tried to stop his body from shivering. He didn’t want House to know everything. As it was, House would probably be ecstatic over the latest figures on the curled scrap of paper.

House commanded, “Look at me!”

Wilson obeyed. There was no way to hide this last symptom for long. He turned his blank eyes toward the voice.

Staring, the diagnostician demanded, “When did you lose your sight? You know you need to tell me everything you’re experiencing for me to come up with the right calculations.”

Wilson shrugged. He couldn't hide his resentment any longer. “Yes, well you don’t want to be late for the final curtain on my performance, do you? Who knows what may come out of my mouth other than a death rattle.”

House responded, “Don’t be a drama queen and answer the question.”

Turning his ear to better catch the words, Wilson was surprised to notice the trademark harshness gone. Perhaps House would offer him mercy during his final days. Encouraged, he spoke up, “About noon. I turned on the television and _Prescription Passion_ was on. Hey, what about that Kelly? Last thing I saw was the fourth baby popping out of her.”

Wilson waited for a response from House. Anything.

Nothing. Hope died within him. He tamped down another shiver. He wouldn’t give House the satisfaction.

If only he could see House’s face, but all Wilson detected was the sound of receding footsteps.

* * *

In the bedroom, House hunched over the calculator and refigured the formula. There was something good about this new world order. You could calculate the demise of your “best friend” to the day and minute by simply pushing a few buttons. By this time, three days from now, he would have what he so dearly wished. House smiled. He could hardly wait.

* * *

_Three days later, mid-afternoon._

House was rushing home. Thank God he drove to the hospital on his bike, but he was royally pissed. This wasn’t supposed to happen until tonight.

If it wasn’t for his latest patient, he would have hung around the apartment like an expectant father waiting for the birth of his child. The manufacturer had assured him that the vitals would give him the exact time of death. It was just luck that his patient stabilized when she did. He took advantage of the lull to channel his nervous energy into a phone call to the dying man back home.

Admittedly, it was becoming difficult to hide the interest in his voice that could be mistaken for kindness. He didn’t want to slow down the process any further. He’d waited years. Fucking years for this day. Not having anything to say, House counted on his wits to make something up on the fly, but he could have written the State of the Union address by the time the phone was answered.

“Yes.” The voice was a lackluster whisper.

Immediately House knew something was wrong. Dropping any pretense he asked, “How are you?”

Wheezing greeted his ear. Finally, he heard a breathless, “Fine.”

House wasn’t expecting such labored breathing until later this evening. This was unscheduled. He was worried.

A small voice mumbled two words through the receiver. House snapped the phone closed and headed out the door at lightening speed, collecting his jacket as he propelled out the door. For once, he was grateful for his space age leg.

There was no misunderstanding what the indistinct words, “Come home,” meant.

He was in a race with death.

* * *

House found the body collapsed on the floor in the hallway, the cell phone a few inches from the lifeless hand. House was furious. He ground out, "Nooo!" but no one could hear him.

He ran and kneeled over the figure, checking for a pulse. Knowing it was useless, he tried in vain to administer CPR. Nothing. The skin was cooling by the second.

Anger and grief filled House to overflowing. He couldn’t control the outpouring of emotion. Lifting the empty husk, he propped it upright. The chin was lolling against the still chest. He shook the body, then pounded it against the wall while yelling, “No, you cock sucking bastard! Listen to me! You can't leave me like this. Speak, you son of a bitch! You heap of shit! Speak to me!”

He picked up the head, but there was nothing.

House couldn’t believe it. Tears slid unashamedly down his cheeks. “Wilson. Fuck. This can’t be happening.”

He hugged the lifeless creature to him, letting tears flow freely. He missed Wilson with all his heart, and would never forgive him for dying so suddenly…

…three years ago.

 

 

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	2. Chapter 2

.

 

  
_  
Three years ago._

“How’s the new leg?” Wilson spoke softly into his cell.

House could hear a lecturer's voice leaking through the phone along with Wilson's voice.

“You’re calling me during a presentation? Which means you have a hard-on thinking about me, or the speaker is an ass. Which is it?”

A huffed sigh issued into House’s ear. “Right, as always, House. I must be having an erection, because I actually chose to call you…you…jackass.”

“Mmmm, I can hear your cock straining against your pants. Come to Pa—“

“—House!" Wilson warned, but his voice quickly lost its edge. "Hold on while I go out to the lobby. You're impossible, but I can’t get porn this good on the hotel TV.”

“No problem. Just remember this call will cost you $8.00 a minute.”

Ten dollars later, Wilson was back on the phone. “I miss you.”

“Like you miss your underwear?”

“Yes, such a hilarious practical joke. If only you were an eight-year-old. That’s your pathetic plea for attention? Sneak all my undershirts and boxers out of my suitcase?”

“Don’t you like what I replaced them with?”

A chuckle escaped. "Yeah, DVDs of _Monster Truck Madness_ are much more practical.” The voice became serious. “Hey, I called to ask you about the leg. Did you go in for the checkup? Did Marks recommend any physical therapy?”

“No PT, the damn thing is a Maytag repairman’s wet dream.” House could still hear Wilson worrying at the other end of the line. House knew the decision to amputate weighed heavily on him. After all, Wilson was his medical proxy during the accident. “You were right. I should have opted for the surgery years ago when you first began nagging me.”

There was relieved silence.

“House?”

“Yeah.”

“I wish you could have come to the conference with me.”

“I charge _Pretty Woman_ prices when I visit hotel rooms, and food costs you extra.”

"How is that any different than what we have now? Your expenses are killing me." The teasing vanished from Wilson's voice. He sounded solemn. “It would have been worth it.”

The background noise level abruptly rose in volume. The lecture must have finished. Wilson began signing off. “Look, I’ve got to go.” The voice lowered to a confidential whisper, “House, I lo-“ and abruptly changed to distress. “Hou—?!"

There was a grunt. A thump.

“Wilson! Wilson! Are you there?! Speak to me!"

Other voices were shouting, "Call 911!" A stranger was saying, “He’s not breathing. I’m not finding a pulse.”

“Willllllssssoooonnnn!!!!”

* * *

Five thousand doctors, and not one of them could help.

Cuddy called. A brain aneurysm.

Only Wilson’s suitcase arrived back at House’s doorstep.

The body was sent directly to the funeral home.

* * *

Cuddy held House's hand during the reading of the will. A sum was set aside for House to pay the funeral arrangements and the balance went to a niece, two nephews, and Princeton Plainsboro's oncology department. The amount was surprisingly small. Cancer wouldn’t be cured, nor would any of Wilson’s relatives quit waiting on tables while going to college. House wondered if Wilson was paying alimony to two more wives he didn’t know about.

* * *

Caustic as ever to those who knew him, House went to the hospital every day. He walked, talked and saved patients. As a doctor he knew the human body could take a lot of punishment. He'd certainly put his own to the test. But he was amazed to wake up each morning and discover that he survived another day. That he could continue to live after losing the one person he loved. This wasn't the way it was supposed to happen. Wilson was younger, healthier, stronger. How could Wilson do this to him? One moment he was on the phone talking, and then mid-sentence, gone.

House grieved until his self-destructive nature kicked in and the hidden metal box on the top bookshelf beckoned. He coaxed the can off its perch, holding it snugly in his arms as if it were a frightened kitten. Opening the lid, he was surprised to find a small mound of paper hiding the contents. He tossed the scraps aside as he dug deeper into the box, finding the hypodermic and the vial.

The small glass container was empty.

A strangled cry issued from him as he flung the box across the room. He blistered the air with curses, hoping to curdle the ears off his personal caregiving ghost. “Why you sneaky, codependent bastard!”

House picked up the discarded papers and was about to toss them in the garbage when familiar handwriting caught his eye. He couldn’t resist. It was an envelope addressed to him. Inside was a note.  
_  
House,   
Now that you have your bionic limb, there is no reason for you to open this box. Not for the purpose of alleviating pain, which means you have another reason, and that reason is me. _ House paused and mumbled under his breath, “Don’t flatter yourself.” _I’m not around this time to stop or save you, so I’m hoping a puzzle may prevent you from harming yourself._

It wasn’t signed, but it had Wilson's name written all over it.

He ran his eyes over the tangled bird's nest of snippets and notes and saw that most were news clippings. House recognized some of it as the research Wilson delved into about the new transplant prostheses, but the emphasis was on up-and-coming android engineering.

ACME Corporation (Artificial Creations through Mechanical Engineering), with its slogan, “Making EveryBody Better” was in the forefront, proclaiming their amazing results. Loved ones could be recreated with ease from audio and video tapes. House grumbled in disgust, “No better than freeze-drying a cat.”

He rifled through the papers. One engineer claimed he could imprint human cells onto chips causing androids to take on the personalities of those who passed away. The assertion trumpeted that the automaton would behave like the original human.

The statement tugged at House’s heart, but did not prevent him from fantasizing about choking his helpful specter by its tieless neck.

Then he came to another article. The genius engineer was being sued. Owners found the robots defective. There were countless “un” complaints: unfounded, unreal, unbelievable, unnatural, unlifelike. And one guy protested that the android was too real. “It repeated back words that my wife said to me on her deathbed.”

Goosebumps crawled up House's neck and a sense of purpose ignited his spirit. Wilson’s last words. What if he could hear what Wilson was about to say before he died?

Shuffling through the papers, he found more information about the scientist. Apparently, the class action went in favor of the plaintiffs, and he was dumped from ACME. Searching carefully, House came across the name of the maverick engineer, Dr. Pierce Shockly. He shook his head. How could parents with the last name of Shockly ever call their baby, Pierce. For the first time, and not the last, House wondered if this was some elaborate hoax Wilson was manipulating from beyond the grave.

He closed the box, returning it to the shelf, and fired up his computer. He combed the internet for information. If there was such a person as Dr. Pierce Shockly, he was going to find him.

* * *

After chasing down dead leads and running down blind alleys, five weeks later House was knocking on the door of one P. Shockly.

The peephole flickered with light then blinked dark. Locks snapped and cracked as someone twisted knobs and slid back latches. Two inches of light ruptured from the door.

“I’m Dr. Gregory House.”

The portal opened wide. A bald-headed, Woody Allen type man, stood at the entrance. “Um, uh, Dr. House, I’ve been expecting you. Why don’t you come in.”

“I intend to.”

House was ushered into a living room that looked like an ancient book repository. Paper and tomes everywhere. One match and the place would combust and heat half the Eastern seaboard for a month.

The bald-headed man stopped rubbing his hands for a moment to point to a chair and offered, “Can I get you anything?”

“Dr. James Evan Wilson, if you have a spare one handy.”

The engineer cackled non-stop as if overdosing on Comedy Central. House wondered if he wasn’t in the presence of the proverbial mad scientist. He could overpower him if need be, as long as the jittery pipsqueak didn’t own or know how to operate a gun.

“You’re quite a card, Dr. House. That’s very amusing.” Shockly pushed his large spectacles back up his nose with a fingertip. “As if I’d make a dozen Wilsons. No. I’m an honorable man, and as marketable as a good looking doctor with a sense of humor is, who can cook and clean—"

House jumped to his feet and grabbed the engineer. “You’ve met Wilson? He visited you?”

The small wrinkled fingers plucked the long slender ones away. “Er, uh, why yes. Isn’t that why you came here? To pick up your bot?”

House sat back down in the chair. His head was spinning. “I came for information, I was thinking of ordering one, but…”

“Dr. Wilson was very concerned about you. He said he didn’t want you to be alone if something happened to him. He ordered a robotic to be prepared, but not activated unless I received news of his death.”

“You did?”

“Yes. The law firm that executed his will notified me. Also, I wasn’t to contact you. That you would, um, find me.”

House did not know what to say. He planned to special order a "Wilson" to his exact standards, but his partner beat him to it. What would he be like? Damn it, he didn’t want some replica, he wanted…he didn't dare think what he wanted. “I don’t want a doll.”

“Oh, this isn’t a doll. This is my best work. Dr. Wilson made it very clear that he wanted you to have a multi-purpose unit that you could customize.”

Check. Checkmate.

Scratching his stubble, House capitulated the king. Apparently, Wilson was several steps ahead of him on this one.

“I don’t understand. What is there to select?”

Shockley began moving around the room. “Would you like something to drink? I have some schnapps around here somewhere.”

House shook his head. "I want information."

His host sat down. “Very well. Let me explain. You have three options.

"Number one, the turnkey, simplest model. The replicant looks, sounds and behaves according to Dr. Wilson's specs. You treat him like Dr. Wilson, the android will react like Dr. Wilson.

"Option two, because the duplicate is impressionable and has the flexibility to grow, you can encourage him to try new things. If, let’s say, you want him to take up riding motorcycles, he will. Of course, in a completely Wilsonian way."

House imagined convincing Wilson to ride a bike. If he behaved in a completely Wilsonian way, he'd refuse to get on.

“So it’s not Wilson,” House summed up glumly.

An index finger shot to the ceiling, "Aha! More than you would expect! That’s the beauty of my androids. This is where ACME and I parted ways. My bots run on batteries and cell tissue from the host. Dr. Wilson allowed me to take several samples, and he completed a psychological profile to recreate lifelike reactions.

“If you don't like those choices, there is still a third option. Not only is it second nature for this Wilson to react like his donor parent, but he can access memories, and in theory, be capable of original thought.”

This information caught House’s interest, he scooted forward in his seat and studied Shockly before he responded.

“You’re my Frankenstein.”

"Huh?" The magnified eyes behind the eyeglasses nearly popped from their sockets. Shaking off the remark, Shockly continued, "Uh, um, well…there’s a price for option three.”

“How much? I’ll pay it.”

“Oh no, Dr. House. I'm not talking about money. Dr. Wilson already paid. Your outlay is in time, not cash. The payoff won't happen for two to five years.”

House's face wrinkled in annoyance. His patience was always in short supply. “Then cut to the chase.”

“Admittedly, option three is an attractive alternative, but with a terrible trade-off. There’s a lot of energy expended in a bot. Every movement, word choice, and reaction is drawn from parent cells. And just like humans, the android is driven by certain psychological needs. Satisfy those needs, and the replicant will require minimal energy. Withhold them, and the replicant's circuits overload. It searches within its memory banks for familiar patterns. When there is no match, it runs a search again. Over and over until the batteries are completely drained." Shockly suddenly became quiet and looked sad. “Such a shame really.”

House rolled his eyes. "Burn out's a bitch. Do you have anything else to say in a thousand words or less?"

The barb went right over Shockly's head. His face lit up as he stuttered with excitement. “Dr. Wilson's pr-pr-profile indicated a strong need to be loyal to you, to pr-provide love and b-be loved in return. If you cut off this form of stimulation, the bot taps deeper into the human cells, not only siphoning energy but accessing memories and the last moments in the donor's life." The engineer shook his head. “It’s a Shakespearean tragedy. The bot actually becomes one with its benefactor for a smattering of seconds, and then burns out—dies."

Shockly scratched his chin. "I've tried retooling and installing fail-safe contacts and software, but it has yet to be tested. I'm not sure if the changes will make any difference or not to the lifespan of option three."

House was displeased with the semantics. “Dies?! It’s a thing. When my remote control refuses to turn tricks, I replace the batteries. Why can’t the same be done for your golem?”

“True, true, but the last few seconds fries the circuitry along with the cells. A whole new android must be built and the cells replaced with fresh ones.”

Staring into space, House put the pieces together. “Fresh cells? You need a live donor? This is a one-shot? No do-overs.”

“Exactly. You understand precisely!" Shockly answered gleefully. The poignancy of the situation flew past him like ET traveling across the moon.

Nimble fingers played a piano solo on the armrest. "So, it is up to me to choose how to use this ‘Wilson.’ What if I decide on option one or two? How long is the life expectancy?”

“Your lifetime. Perhaps, several.” The engineer stood up and went to a cabinet. He rooted through the contents until he found a booklet and a small device that looked like a calculator with two wires attached. “All you need for monitoring its physical condition are these two items. The bot runs a daily diagnostic, printing out the results on a tape. You enter external symptoms listed in the pamphlet over here, push this red button and bingo! See precisely the amount of energy expended. For option one or two, you will barely see any fluctuations. For option three, with conflicting emotional input generating heavy memory retrieval, you can calculate to the minute when the android will expire. Except…."

Option three resembled the equivalent of murder by a method of torture House would never dream of practing on his patients. Medical sadism—certainly. Shunning—never. He couldn't abstain from inquiring, “Except?”

“The self-preservation mechanism. I’ve never been able to pinpoint which circuitry causes the reaction, but the androids will keep symptoms from you and try all kinds of tactics to survive."

House was intrigued. “Like what? Wilson will dress up as RuPaul and put on a drag queen show in the hopes of distracting me?”

The engineer put up his hands. “No. Nothing like that. Lie to you that everything is fine, hide symptoms. I’ve even caught one reading a self-help book, attempting to visualize and eradicate symptoms. As a diagnostician, you shouldn’t have a problem, but I wanted to warn you.”

House was faced with a dilemma. Live a lifetime with a Wilson doll, or waste years tricking a bot into terminating so he could have a few minutes with the genuine article. House didn’t know if he could stand losing his partner again. The little game of finding Shockly kept him going up until now, but would a look-alike make him happy for the rest of his life?

That brought up a whole new line of speculation. “How real are these automatons? Do they eat, drink—“

"Yes, everything! All body functions perform normally." The light reflected off Shockley's shiny scalp as he bobbed his head. "They even—“

“Blow-dry their hair and have sex?" House finished with an intimidating leer.

“Right! Right! A rabbit would chop off his lucky foot to be that insatiable,” agreed Shockly as he chortled.

House rolled his eyes, the man might look like Woody Allen, but he was no stand-up comedian. He continued his cross-examination. “Identical in every way?”

“Well, as identical as a copy can be,” explained Shockley. “Option one or two replicates Dr. Wilson mannerisms and inflections. The surface details, so to speak, but not the thinking process. He won’t be able to practice medicine, or for that matter, create new recipes, but he could follow instructions from cookbooks.”

House felt a long lost quiver of excitement stir within him. "So, Opt In guy would have time for me and nobody else. I could live with that. When will he be ready?"

Shockly’s eyebrows rose above his glasses. “Oh, he’s waiting to go home with you now. He’s been activated since the estate released the funds from escrow.”

House now understood what happened to the bulk of Wilson’s estate. He didn't blow his money on some blonde tranny nurse in Poughkeepsie. “How much did you charge him?”

“This is a very expensive process, Dr. House. It’s a lifetime of R&amp;D.” For a psycho-genius, Shockley looked self-conscious and guilty.

“How much, damn it!”

“Um, uh.” Shockly's fingers fluttered like moths and flew up to adjust his glasses. “Ninety percent of Dr. Wilson’s estate.”

Another revelation for House. Wilson wasn’t hiding behind the stock market section of the newspaper seeking peace and quiet while he ate breakfast. He was accumulating a small fortune. House did a quick calculation in his head: $500,000. Wilson spent almost all of his life savings, a half million dollars, to prevent him from emptying the contents of a glass vial into his veins.

He was prepared to love this new gift, for the sake of the giver. “You don’t have to gift wrap him, just give me his chew toys, water bowl, and leash; I’ll take him home.”

Looking pleased, Shockly said, “I’ll get him. Give me a few minutes.”

House tried to stay calm while he waited, but he couldn’t sit still. He got up and roamed the room, studying the bookshelves as he anticipated having Wilson back in his life. Back in his arms. Talking with him, joking, sharing stories. Screw having a minute with real Wilson, he was convinced he could live with a replicant forever.

Hearing footsteps behind him, House turned around. Standing in front of him was six feet of tall, dark, and handsome. Hair curling exactly as always over the forehead, dressed meticulously in a brown suit, ivory shirt, and the green tie that was Wilson’s favorite. The one that said, “I'm fuckable.”

“Hey, House.” A smile pushed the dimple into place, bracketing the left corner of the mouth.

At the sound of Wilson’s voice, House's heart missed a beat. “My God, it’s really you.”

It was too good to be true.

Like opposing polarities, the two men rushed into each other’s arms. House thought he’d implode as Wilson’s lips brushed against his. Their mouths opened to devour each other in a soul-searching kiss.

Almost immediately, House pushed away. He looked into the familiar chocolate brown eyes that up until now he'd only seen in his dreams.

Like the kiss…the eyes were soulless.

House controlled his voice, astonishing himself on how gentle he could sound. He glanced up for a moment to see the expression on the bot's face as he said, “Let’s go home.”

He aborted the sentence before saying, "Wilson." He would never permit himself to use Wilson's name when addressing the bot.

The innocent replicant beamed at him. “I can't wait."

House responded to the enthusiasm with a grunt. He patted his jacket pocket, checking for the meter and pamphlet. He never imagined it would be such a simple decision.

Actually, there was no choice at all. In the moment they kissed, he knew he couldn’t live with options one or two. If he had to wait two years or a lifetime, he'd rather have one second with the real Wilson.

 

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	3. Chapter 3

.

_  
Back to the future._

House was venting his anger by beating a titanium skull into an unsuspecting wall.

He was too late. Three years he had waited, and from the heat coming off the body, he missed his chance by scant minutes.

Lifting the head, he challenged, “Wilson! I know you’re in there! You can’t leave me again without speaking. Please, just a sentence. A vowel. You know you want this moment as much as I do.”

He examined the face for the slightest spark of life, but the eyes were hollow and lifeless. The mouth was slack.

There was nothing more to do. House wrapped his arms around the body and rocked it. Years of suppressed grief, quiet but heartfelt, poured from him the way he had never permitted before. Tears rolled down his cheeks and onto the lifeless figure. “Wilson.” Words he’d never dared speak wrenched out of him. He kept hugging the figure, brushing away the hair to kiss the forehead. He choked out, “I love you.”

Like rain on parched soil vitalizing a seed, one tear crawled down the android’s back and soaked into a small rip in the battered skin. The moisture reformed into a tiny crystalline globe that slid down one chip and onto another, until it hung on the ends of two opposing breaks in the system and reconnected a circuit.

“So, how’s the new leg?”

Startled, House raised his head from the bot’s shoulder, and looked at it carefully. Had he heard something, or was his mind playing tricks?

A soft vibration hummed through the body. The face was lifeless, except for the mouth. “Right, as always, House… you…jackass."

House couldn’t believe what he just heard. He recognized the words. His last conversation with… “Wilson! Wilson! My God, you’re in there.”

“House! Hold on while I go out to the lobby.”

The melodic voice became louder. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Wilson,” House couldn’t resist replying, his voice breaking over the words. Was this an instant replay, or could a dead man speak from the grave?

“I wish you could have come to the conference with me.”

“Me too.” House touched his forehead to Wilson’s as he answered.

“Look, I’ve got to go. House, I lo—"

“No, don’t leave."

“Look, I’ve got to go. House, I lo—"

“Don’t. You don’t have to—"

“Look, I’ve got to go. House, I lo—" The words were hung up on a tree branch from hell.

Unbidden tears once again broke upon the grizzled cheeks. House's voice rang with bitter anguish. “Don’t leave me twisting in the wind here! Finish the sentence, God damn it!"

“Look, I’ve got to go. House, I lo… lo… love you. You know it, don’t you? You may want to tease me for the for the rest of my life about this...but I need to tell you…A-Are you listening?”

“I’m listening, Wilson.”

“I’ll love you forever, House.”

The mouth stopped moving. The gentle thrumming vanished. Wilson was gone. Irretrievably gone.  
_  
I’ll love you forever, House. I’ll love you forever. Forever, House._

House sighed. His three year campaign had come to an end. He finally got what he was after, the last words from Wilson's lips. He hugged the shell once more, kissing it, honoring it for executing a valiant job.

The apartment was dark. He hadn’t realized how late it was. Feeling bone-tired, he stumbled toward his bedroom and collapsed upon the covers. Drained, sad, but with the wearied relief of someone who recently survived a category five hurricane, he replayed Wilson’s words over and over until he slipped into a deep, healing sleep.

 

* * *

 

The tang of bacon, and utensils scraping a pan.

No. Impossible.

House opened his eyes. Did last night tip him over the edge?

Rushing water.

Scrubbing his hand over his face, he walked to the kitchen. Someone was in there, standing over the stove. Munching a piece of toast while glancing at the newspaper. Someone with shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows. Feet shod in gleaming leather.

“Morning. How do you want your eggs?”

“Wilson?”

“Sorry, I can’t remember how you like your eggs. I’m a bit rusty after my wussy twin made, what? Three years of breakfasts? Over three thousand macadamia nut pancakes? How can you look at them, let alone eat them?”

“It’s really you?” House still wasn’t sure if he was losing it, but the smug grin that answered his question was convincing him.

“Yeah. Apart from the genuine simulated skin and the state-of-the-art circuitry, it’s pretty much me. Amazing, huh? After I explained to Shockly how important it was for me to take care of you, he said he'd try to make improvements on his design. Looks like he came through for us.”

Nodding, House vaguely remembered the engineer mentioning something about software and fail-safes, but he wasn’t going to let Wilson off the hook. “You found out about the aneurysm but didn’t tell me,” he accused.

"There was nothing to tell. I found out at my last physical. It was inoperable, so I did the next best thing.” Raising his hands in front of his chest, Wilson said, “Can we please get along for fifteen minutes before having our first argument?”

“If you’re going to feed me within that time."

“Then tell me how you want your eggs, or you’re gonna get them sunny side up whether you like 'em that way or not.”

“Scrambled,” House responded. Like his own brain felt right now.

Wilson echoed the sentiment. "Exactly like the inside of my head. You know, I remember some things, but not a lot. For instance, this banner on the newspaper. What the hell does, ‘A new world order. A new world peace,’ mean?”

“Things changed…while you were gone.” House backed out of the kitchen and looked toward the bedroom. The mannequin was no longer in the hall. "Ouch!" He felt a burning sting on his arm, and turned around as he heard a chuckle.

“Administered a medicinal pinch. You’re not dreaming. It’s really me.” Wilson threw down Shockley's pamphlet. "You need to read every word in appendix C. I wasn't dead when you left me on the floor last night. My system was rebooting."

Wilson pointed to a slip of paper on the kitchen island. "And you better resign yourself to my lecturing. Check out the numbers while I finish preparing the food."

House picked up the results of the latest diagnostic. He was afraid to see screaming red digits, but his eyes widened with surprise. The numbers were black and off the charts. "Son of a bitch! You're gonna live forever."

Two hands landed on House's shoulders, and he was spun around.

"No, not without you, House. You're the sole purpose why I'm here and exist."

A fork and a plate of food was shoved into his hands. “Now stop trying to make sense of this and do something important. Taste the potatoes. I experimented.”

Brown and crispy, House closed his eyes and floated away on the savory flavor.

"Saw shallots and fresh rosemary at the market this morning and thought I'd try it. Are you convinced yet?"

"Mmmph!" House answered with his mouth stuffed full of potato. He was in complete agreement. The food was delicious, and only the op three bot was capable of original thought. Wilson had never before made this dish.

"Then are you ready to fill me in about this new world order?”

Swallowing, House licked his lips. “France took back the Statue of Liberty.”

Wilson shrugged. “She was beginning to show her age.”

“Canada and Mexico merged into one country. Gives MexiCan a whole new meaning.”

“I love Mexican food served by polite, apologetic waiters. They may take pity on me and offer free drinks when they hear you complain about the size of the 'maracas' on the waitresses.”

“There are forty-nine and a half states. Part of California fell into the ocean.”

“San Francisco?”

“Gone.”

“Damn! I always wanted to go there.”

“Don’t get too upset. The Castro relocated to Reno where oceanfront property is cheap.”

Wilson answered with a straight face. “So, nothing’s really changed.”

House put down his plate and moved closer to what he considered a living and breathing human. “There’s one other epic reordering of the universe. Makes the rest pale in comparison.”

“What’s that, House?”

“You returned to me, Wilson.” House looked away, and contemplated repeating what he had said last night to Wilson’s understudy. He launched a full out assault. “I love you.”

Bushy eyebrows rose in surprise. “Now, that’s downright cataclysmic.”

“I love you, Wilson,” House repeated. Standing within an inch of his heart's desire, the words became easier to say every time he uttered them.

Soft brown eyes shone with an interior light. “I love you too, House.”

This time they embraced and kissed, and House had no doubts that this was the bona fide article. The long drought was over and he drank deeply. He explored every inch of the beloved mouth and thrilled to the reciprocating sensations induced by his partner.

"Let's continue in the bedroom," House said when he broke off the kiss.

"Are you sure? You're not itching to test my ability to diagnose Hodgkin's lymphoma, or give me an MRI?"

"Cancer is boring, and an MRI would only cloud the issue. Your eyes and mouth told me all I needed to know."

"And what did they tell you, House?"

"That you have an unquenchable spirit, Wilson."

"And you have?"

"God knows. But apparently neither death nor drained batteries can keep you away from me. Bedroom, Wilson. We have a lot of catching up to do."

By the following morning, House was confident that an unfathomable act of nature bonded them and not an engineering circuit.

For once in his life, House accepted an enigma and moved on.

 

[ ](http://www.statcounter.com/)


End file.
